


Walk the line

by skiiish367



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Batman as Matches Malone, Character Death, Dark, Denial, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Going undercover, M/M, Past Abuse, Possessive Joker, Secrets, Short Bruce (but not too short), Sleep Deprived Bruce, Slow Build, Tim Drake is Catlad, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiiish367/pseuds/skiiish367
Summary: Going undercover to foil the Joker's plans is NEVER a good idea. Unfortunately for Bruce, he's going to have to learn that the hard way.





	1. Step one to committing Suicide

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Grin And Bare It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613201) by [BadgerDame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadgerDame/pseuds/BadgerDame). 



"This is suicide."

"Oh C'mon..it's not _that_ bad."

"You are literally committing suicide."

"Alfred!!" Bruce groaned frustrated. He didn't see the flaw in his plan. It would work perfectly. Countless lives would be saved and multiple drug lords would be put rightly in their cells. Yes, he could die. _Could._ But he was Batman. _The_ Batman! And Batman _didn't_ die.

"I apologize sir, but I must agree with young Jason on this one. This is a highly naive plan. Sir, do you truly believe that The Joker won’t try to kill you.

“Exactly!! He’ll _try_! But he won’t be able to,” Bruce started, flailing his hands around trying to get his point across. Disapproving faces spread across the room, and Bruce continued. “C’mon guys. Do you really think he’ll be able to kill me? I’m batman, he won’t be able to!”

Tim looked up from his lap and shook his head. “You’ll get hurt. He’ll hurt you.”

“And I don’t get hurt otherwise?!” Bruce exasperated. “It won’t make much of a difference, only this time I won’t be having my suit on 27/7.”

Tim growled and stood up from the sofa. “That’s exactly the point. Without that suit, he’ll kill you! He won’t know that it’s batman that’s standing on the end of his gun. He’ll just think you’re another disposable, pitiful, weak human.”

“You’re telling me this? With what you do? Do you think that I don’t know about you sneaking out every night?” Tim twitched, and his stance staggered. Bruce knew he was getting to him. “Should I tell them? That you spend your night hanging out with your _dear old friend_ ba-”

“OK OK...I’m with Batman on this one. I agree with him. This is a very smart, and responsible plan.”

Everyone's jaw dropped, and Bruce smirked. His gaze turned to the other’s sprawled across the sofa. “Please?........you know...it’s not like you’ll be able to stop me anyway. Besides I’ve already got my disguise in motion.”

His hands reached up to unlock the helmet, and slowly pulled it off, revealing a set of dyed hazel brown hair that once used to be as dark as the night. His baby blue eyes now turned chocolate brown from the contacts that he was wearing. “Sooo....what do you guys think?”

To complete the look, Bruce shrugged off his batman suit, revealing a black shirt donned with a simple plaid shirt, and a pair of black jeans. There really was no colour, except for the red streaks criss crossing themselves on the plaid.

“ _Seriously_? Matches Malone? Could you have picked no one else?”

“What?? What’s wrong with this?” Bruce pouted. Groans filled the air, and Bruce grinned. He knew he’d won.

“Alright,” Jason breathed out. “But...there will be rules.”

“Agreed,” Alfred commented, followed by a couple nods from the rest of the gang.

“First, you’ll contact one of us, _every day_. I don’t care how you do it, just let us know you’re alive. Two, you’re taking your batsuit with you just in case. Three, if there is any danger, or threat of being killed...and no I don’t care how big it is, you are going to come back. Oh, and one more thing,” Jason spoke. “If that sick clown hurts you in any way or form, I’m going to come over there and beat him to death along with the rest of his gang. Alright?”

Bruce raised his hands in surrender, and squirmed a little with everyone’s gaze pinning down on him. “Alright, Alright! Geez, sometimes I feel like you guys forget that I’m the adult here.”

“Then learn act like one, and maybe grow a couple inches taller. Can’t keep hiding your shortness with that batsuit, or your dress shoes.” Cassandra snickered.

“HEY! I am _not_ short!!”

 

_-o-_

 

Bruce made his way back up to his room. It was strange being here at night. He was never in his bed at night. His normal routine usually consisted of spending the night running through the streets of Gotham, and catching petty thieves, along with a few criminal masterminds. On the unlucky days he’d bump into The Joker, and the rest of the night would be spent dancing his way through the Clown’s games. He’d return at the brink of sunlight, where Alfred would be waiting for him to dress his wounds. Then came possibly 2-3 hours of dreamless sleep. When he woke again, life as Bruce Wayne would begin.

Yes it was unhealthy. Hell, it was horrible. Even on days where he took a break, sleep never came. Maybe it was because of the fact that he’d spend so long as batman. Night became morning, and the morning had become the night.

Entering the room, he was surprised to find Tim waiting for him inside.

“Tim?”

Tim didn’t look up, and only stared down at his lap. “You knew?”

“Knew what?” Bruce asked confused.

“You know...me sneaking out at night, and hanging out with you know who.”

Bruce looked down at the guilt stricken boy, and let out a chuckle. Did Tim think he was mad?

The boy looks up confused, tears welling up in his eyes threatening to fall out. “Y-you’re not m-mad?”

And that only made Bruce laugh even more. “Me? Mad? Oh no...kid, I was never mad. I’d known a long time ago, about you hanging out with catwoman? Oh..no I’m not mad. Not even the slightest.”

“...why?”

Bruce looked at the boy, and gave him a tired lopsided grin. “We’ve had.. _history_ going back for awhile now. Besides, we all deserve a little fun now and then, don’t we, _catlad_?”

“W-w-wha...m-me?? _C-catlad_?!” Tim stuttered, growing more flustered with every growing second. “N-no...that..I-I’m not!!”

Bruce sighed, and ran his hand through the boy’s black hair ruffling it up. “It’s ok, kid. I think it’s rather cute.”

“Cute?!”

Bruce laughed as the boy’s cheeks grew red. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others. Now go, I need to sleep before leaving tomorrow towards my ultimate doom.”

The boy nodded, and dashed out the door, leaving Bruce to collapse onto his bed. Bruce had lied. No, he wasn’t going to go to sleep. Sleep wasn’t going to come either way. He just needed to be left alone, to think about tomorrow. Sighing, Bruce grabbed his laptop from the bedside and opened it, looking through his files once again, reviewing his role as Matches Malone, and the interview.

Bruce glanced at the clock. Yes, he could probably fit maybe 4 hours of sleep right now. Ehhhhh...do I really need it?

_Yes, yes you do!_

But do I really?

_You’re meeting the Joker tomorrow without your suit!!! You need to have your brain back up and running for tomorrow._

Bruce really was going to regret this tomorrow. Tearing his gaze of the clock, Bruce placed the laptop on his lap, and let his eyes scroll through the screen once again. Oh he was definitely going to regret this.


	2. Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets the Joker.

Morning was not pretty. It was horrid. Filled with the constant yelling of his butler, the stupid shiny sun, and bloody pancakes. Don’t get him wrong, Bruce loved pancakes, but he couldn’t get himself to properly swallow the food down. Sleeping only 2 hours unsettled his eating habits. Never had Bruce, in 4 years, eaten food this early in the morning.

Forcing his eyes awake, Bruce took another sip of his coffee. Black, and sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. And gods how he loved it. Bruce wasn’t sure how he was supposed to survive his mornings without them.

“Did you not sleep well last night, Master Wayne?”

Bruce grumbled and ran his hand through his dyed hair. “It wasn’t my fault, Alfred. I’ve officially been turned nocturnal.”

Alfred sighed, stuffing Bruce’s hand bag with a few last minute things. Toothbrush. Charger. Phone. Laptop. And most of all...chocolate. Bruce smiled, knowing Alfred’s attempts at trying to make it so that Bruce would feel as comfortable in that foreign place as possible. Bruce didn’t stop him. He let Alfred fret his worried mind, and run across the house, grabbing anything that might somehow be necessary. Selfish maybe, Bruce liked it. He liked knowing there were people in his life that cared so much, and that thought alone made Bruce feel a lot less lonely than he really was.

“What would I ever do without you, Alfred?”

Alfred didn’t answer, but Bruce could see the small twitch at the corner of the old man’s lips. And that alone, was more than enough.

When the time had come to leave, Alfred shedded a couple of tears. Bruce only chuckled, and gave Alfred a pat on the back.

“You’ve grown so much, Master Wayne.” Alfred sobbed, dabbing his handkerchief on the corner of his wrinkled eyes.

“You’re acting as though I’m being sent off the marriage. Don’t you worry, Alfred. You’re little Bruce is still here. It ain’t as though I grew a couple inches overnight,” he joked trying to lighten up to mood.

Alfred gave a small sad smile, before placing a gray beanie over Bruce’s head, covering his ears. Bruce didn’t bother arguing.

“You take care of yourself. Ok?”

“Promise.”

And with that Bruce walked out the door. Handbag slung over one shoulder, and his suitcase in being pulled along with his other hand. This was it. No longer was he Bruce Wayne. No. He was now Matches. Matches Malone.

 

_-o-_

 

Walking in public as Matches Malone was awkward. There were no reporters or journalists chasing him across the city, begging him for interviews. No girls trying to flirt their way close to him. No pictures. No autographs. He was just another normal middle classed person, taking the train to get to wherever he needed to.

Why was Bruce taking the public transit? To avoid public attraction. Had he been dropped off, Media from all over would have at least one picture of him and his plan to go undercover be foiled in a matter of hours.

Placing the earbuds back into ears, Bruce exited the train, and strutted is way down the alleyway on the other side of the station. Eventually, Bruce came upon a group of shady looking men. He approached the group, and stated his business. The blonde out of the group, patted his hands along Bruce’s toned figure, trying to feel for any hidden weapon. When clear, he guided him to a broken down warehouse, and leaded Bruce inside.

Cold air enveloped his body, and Bruce shivered slightly. Half because of the temperature, and half with the knowledge that there was no backing out of this now. He’d be meeting the Joker any time now, and this time without the protection of his batsuit. Taking in a deep breath, Bruce followed the shady man down multiple corridors, and deeper into the facility. Eventually they reached a pair of double doors, with whom Bruce guessed was probably a guard. He had tanned olive skin, and a set of charcoal hair. Stuffed in the rim of his pants was a handgun.

Bruce hunched his shoulders pretending to look intimidated. The man may have a size or two bigger than Bruce, but there was no way Bruce was truly scared. His years as batman were no match for the bulky man that stood before him.

The man leered down upon him and gave an awkward uncertain smile. “Good luck, kid and try not to die in there, will ya? I’m tired of cleaning up after that clown’s mess,” and with that the man opened the door, shoving Bruce towards his ultimate doom.

 

_-o-_

 

Bruce stumbled into the room, half tripping on his feet. He growled, and turned to glare at the Guard, only to find that the door had already been locked shut. A ghoulish laugh broke through the air, and Bruce shuddered, his hair standing on the back of his neck, and goosebumps beginning to form. _Joker._

It wasn’t that Bruce was scared. Rather, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. The batsuit wasn’t there, and neither was Bruce Wayne. This was Matches. A small petty criminal, that burned things for the sake of it.

Taking in a deep breath, Bruce turned around, and green met brown. He locked his gaze with the Joker’s and waited.

“Neh, what’s your name, puppet?”

“Matches. Matches Malone,” Bruce replied, still keeping his eyes pinned on the clown. It was sort of a barrier for Bruce. A shield. His unwillingness to lower his gaze to the ground showed the promise for a fight. A challenge. The fire that raged in Bruce’s eyes, knowing that the killer of hundreds was only a few feet away from him. Oh how Bruce wanted to strangle him. Choke him with his own hands, and make the Joker suffer. Make him see the fault in his doings, perhaps even get the clown to show a little bit of remorse, but there was no doing that right now. He was Matches Malone, but that didn’t mean he was going to bow down to Joker, and pretend to cower in fear. Well, at least not completely. Bruce needed some control, some feel of authority or a way of showing, and this seemed perfect

The Joker who’s grin grew unbearably wide, crossed his legs and looked down at Bruce from his spot on the table, in amusement. “Mitchy eh? Mitch, Mitchy, _Mitchy~”_ The clown poke in a sing songy voice, trying to sound the name with his words. The voice itself made Bruce want nothing more than to shut the psychopath up, but he held his composure, and nodded.

The Joker laughed again, and pushed himself off the table, and strutted closer to Bruce, circling around him like an animal trapping his prey. “I’ll tell ya what, Mitchy. I like ya. Maybe I’ll decide to keep you around. Tell me why. Why should I keep you, Mitchy? _What’s so ever special about you?_ ” Bruce shrugged, and tensed up a little when a knife pressed up against his neck. Got to keep up the act. Don’t act too unafraid. Turning his attention back to the Joker, the Joker frowned. Not a good sign. A clown with a frown in never a good sign. “That’s not an answer, Mitchy dear. And you might want to hurry up with your answer, I don’t got all day. Tick Tock. Tick Tock”

The Joker tapped the watch his hand, and Bruce spoke. “You said it yourself, _boss_ . You like me. If that was the case, shouldn’t you know what’s special enough about me for _you_ to tell me you like me?”

The Joker tilted his head, and placed his hand on his chin tapping it every so often. He hadn’t been expecting that. No, not at all. He was hoping for some ramble about how good the boy’s skills might be, or what use he can be for his team, but no. Mitchy instead, twisted his own wordings to put The Joker into the center of attention. Mitchy wasn’t trying to attract attention. He wanted to stay low, and that thought made Joker shriek with laughter.

“Oh, Mitchy dear. We are talking about you here, not me. As much as everyone loves to talk about me, we must learn to control ourselves, now shouldn't we?”

Bruce twitched at that. He was growing beyond irritated, and his sleep deprivation didn’t help with remaining calm either. “Is that so, Boss?”

The clown twirled on a foot, and pressed up against Bruce, looming over him. Bruce only stared back up into the green eyes, and waited. As much as Bruce wanted to push the other man away, he had to remember. There is no such thing as Personal Space in the Joker’s demented world. And somehow, this only seemed to make the clown happier.

“You’re cute, Mitchy~ I think I’ll keep you around. Perhaps you’ll be more useful than those brainless idiots lying over there,” he spoke, laughing at a joke that Bruce didn’t yet understand.“Hehe..do you get it? Brainless idiots. HeheHEHAHA”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and turned to what the Joker was referring and almost puked on the sight. The sight was horrific. Blood splattered across the walls and now pooling up on the floor. The victims cut up, and piled up on each other. His eyes widened, and his fingers trembled in anger. How could someone have done this to anyone? More importantly, how the hell had Bruce not noticed before? Was this what would’ve become of Bruce had the Joker not agreed to “keep” him?

A hard push broke Bruce away from his thoughts, and Bruce found himself now, falling into the pile of corpses. Red smudging his cheeks and soaking into his hair. Horrified, Bruce pushed himself up, trying to get away corpses, only to be pushed down yet again. He felt the blood soak up in his clothes, his hat, and now start to drip down his face. Was Joker going to kill him? Another disturbing laugh confirmed his thoughts.

Bruce pushed back against the body behind him, making Joker stumble slightly, breaking his stance for a moment. And Bruce took that moment to get up, and move away from the corpses. He put his hands out infront of him, and glared at the clown, ready to fight. Almost daring the Joker to even give a try.

The Joker however, did not charge at him. Instead he threw his head back and giggled, confusing Bruce even further. “ _No one_ . No one tries to fight back with me. No one. Well, except for dear Batsy, but that’s another story...oh and do Calm down, I don’t plan on killing you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Joker’s eyes darkened. “But next time, don’t ever. Don’t even _dare_ try to hit me. Y _ou hear_?” His voice dark, and husky, filled with venom.

Bruce shook off his surprised expression, and nodded quickly. “Sorry, boss.” Droplets of blood dripped down from his hair and rolled down his cheeks. He moved to wipe them with his sleeve, but the Joker stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “It’s rather uncomfortable,” he spoke, trying to hide as much of his irritation.

“The red. I must say it looks rather pretty on you. No no..” The joker giggled. “..It’s beautiful! Mitchy, don’t you just _love_ this piece of art I’ve made you into. Though we still need some more work, but don’t worry, I’ll turn you into a masterpiece.”

Bruce looked at the blood dripping from his body in disgust. Was this what Joker considered art? Bruce wanted to sock the clown. Punch him in the face so hard that his jaw would crack, but for now Bruce simply clenched his stained hands. Gloved hands traced his cheek, and smudged the blood even more across Bruce’s face. “Don’t take it off. Not until I say so.”

Bruce didn’t reply back, and only turned to leave the room. He opened the door, and walked out without a word. The guard only staring with his jaw dropped. He took in Bruce’s sight and cringed rather disturbed. Though what the guard though didn’t matter. Right now, was was disgusting. Ugly. He felt dirty. So _so dirty_. The blood stained his clothes causing them to stick to his skin like wet paper. Those people...how many more would Joker kill today? Would they have to suffer too? Lost in his thoughts he turned around the corner, only to turn back around and make his way back to the Joker, who was waiting at the end of the hallway, just in front of the double doors.

Stupid. Bruce was so damned stupid. The lack of sleep must really be getting to his head.

“Where the _fuck_ am I supposed to go?”

“Don’t be so mad, Mitchy. We’re going to be having a lot of fun together.”

And Joker laughed. Howls of laughter echoing through every hallway, every alley, bouncing off every corner. And Gotham knew it would never be the same again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter. It's not very long and i'll try to make the chapters longer. Hope you guys like it!


	3. If Only...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker introduces Matches Malone to the group. Matches gets into a 'fight', and Bruce finds himself regretting his choice.

Bruce, as far as he knew, he was still alive, and very much close to bashing the stupid clown's head straight into the wall. Bruce wasn't even sure how he hadn't yet lost his control. Worse, the Joker seemed to be having a shred of doubt on Bruce's facade. And that was never a good thing.

Bruce stayed quiet when following the Joker. He'd gotten his luggage back from the shady men, and had opened it to make sure that they hadn't snooped around or taken anything. There really was no need to worry about the batsuit being found. He'd pick it up from Alfred later on in the day...well..more like night. All he'd have to do is somehow find his way out of here and back again, which didn't seem all too hard.

It wasn't long before they reach another pair of double doors. The guard pulls out a card from his pocket and swipes it in front of the red light, turning it green. The doors slide open revealing a large group of buff men, and toned woman chatting away, all with some sort of weapon on them. Hidden in their boots, belts, pockets, and some daring few even held them in their hands. There were a few old men, some as old as Alfred, and a few young ones. How young and small they were. He didn't think they could've been more than 13. Were they really being recruited in this hell hole? Horror filled Bruce when he remembered the pile of bodies that he'd been thrown into earlier. Were some of them children? Had they even known what exactly they were getting into?

It seemed they did, for one of the girls, probably only 16, ran up to the clown beside him, and wrapped her tiny arms around him. The Joker cackled, and ran his hair through the girl's blonde hair, and slowly pulled her off of him, as though she were some pest, yet the girl smiled none the less. Smile stretching from ear to ear. _How?_ How was it this girl could be this close to a sadistic mass murderer and still be smiling. Children were innocent and naive. He knew that, but he also knew that a child shouldn't be smiling when looking at terror itself.

"Mistah J!!" the girl squealed, her voice high, and childish. "I missed ya!!"

 _Miss?_ Someone missed this mass murdered. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cringe away in disgust. The same question repeated itself again. _How?_ He wanted to scream at someone to tell him, to relieve him of this torture. Was there something he was missing? Was it not the man next to him that had mercilessly killed dozens of women, men, _children_?

"Daddy is so sorry, Harley, but Daddy is here now, isn't he?" The Joker cooed, irritation hidden away in his sing-songy voice. Harley, huh? So that was her name. It seemed as though they'd known each other for a while, which also concluded that most of the people before him had also known Joker from before. Probably worked for him, and still are.

"Who's this, Mistah J?! Who's this?!" the girl motioned over to Bruce, and Bruce visible straightened up, knowing that Joker's attention would be back onto him, now that he'd been mentioned. "He's pretty!"

Joker's smile only widened at that. It seemed to Bruce that he liked the compliment, but of course the Joker wouldn't have taken this as a compliment for Bruce, but rather for himself. For his piece of art and Bruce just happened to be the canvas.

"I know, Harley! It's a shame though that I didn't have enough to make him even prettier. None the matter." The Joker shrugged, swinging his bloody arm around Bruce's neck and pulling him closer. "We'll have time to do that later, won't we, Matches?"

Bruce didn't answer to that, instead, he replied with something else, trying to divert the topic again. "I thought it was Mitchy. Had I heard it wrong?"

"OH! No no no no. You heard it right, Mitchy dear. I just like to give my pets multiple names, so they don't get bored. Know what I mean, Matches?"

Bruce clenched his fists behind his back. Pet. He was no pet. "Of Course, _boss,_ " the word slipping out of tongue like venom, not wanting to be heard.

"Haha, I glad we got that out of the way." Bruce felt the arm on his neck slip down to grip his waist, and press his body closer to clown's. Mentally, he cursed himself for shivering. Could've been mistaken for the cold, considering that he's been wearing, a warm beanie along with a thick plaid shirt. "Now. Ladies and Gentlemen~," the clown motioned towards the crowd, who'd already had their full utmost attention on them. So much for trying to stay low. "This here, is Matches Malone. He's yet to be proven as one of us, but do treat my canvas with your care. I'll be leaving now."

And with that Joker left, but not before finishing his show. He let his fingers linger on Bruce's waist and moved his thumb to give Bruce's cheek a gentle caress, wiping away another tear of blood. Eyes still fixed onto Bruce's the Joker moved his thumb to glaze over Bruce's lips, parting them with ease, only to be met with a reluctant wall of teeth. He gave Bruce a dark look, before removing his hand away, and walking out without another word.

Bruce let out the breath he's been holding in, and subconsciously licking his lips. The metallic taste bursting on his tongue, and Bruce swiftly wiped at his lips with the hem of his sleeve, trying to spit out the flavor of the blood. Blood of people who were now dead, and Bruce could do nothing about it. Couldn't bring them back to life. couldn't turn back the clock to knock some sense into their stupid little heads. He could no _nothing_ , and never had Bruce felt more helpless than now. He turned his attention back to the crowd in front of him, who had their eyes fixed upon him. The girl now out of sight, for she's decided to follow Joker back to the interrogation room. Some in the small crown winced at the sight of his blood-drenched self, and Bruce sighed. Again. So much for trying to stay low...

 

_-o-_

 

Eventually, Bruce had found himself blending in well with the crowd. A group of men had approached him, introducing themselves. They looked to be no younger than 20, some even older than him. And from the outside, they looked to be like your average normal friendly neighbour. Had Bruce not seen their abnormal obsession with weapons and the loud boasting about the crime they'd done or how many people they'd killed, Bruce never would've deemed them to be evil. How one could hold such deceit, Bruce could only wonder.

A pat on his back broke him out of his thoughts and Bruce returned his attention back to the pack. "How you still standing, buddy? You look a... _little_ ruffled up."

"Oh. You mean this?" Bruce nodded, motioning to the blood on his body. "It's...it's not mine."

The grumpy man out of the group gave him a look, refusing to believe his words, and Bruce felt the need to speak again. "It's not mine. It's of the ones he...killed."

"Well, if what ya say is true, I'll give ya a warning. Don't get too close to that clown. He's a psychopath."

_No shit._

"Ya don't want to end up like Jonny Jonny."

"Who?" Bruce asked. He knew how Jonny had died. He'd been there. He's watched as Joker shot the man, provoked by his taunting. Every now and then, Bruce would wonder if Jonny would not have died if it had not been for his taunting, and later he'd console his guilt stricken heart by telling himself, Jonny would've been killed sooner or later either way.

"Jonny Frost," the man huffed, letting the smoke dribble out of his mouth, before placing the cigar, and taking another drag. "Boss killed im'. Shot im' right up the chin. Poor boy, even after saving that clown's life. So listen to me, boy. You don't know this place like I do. The moment you let him in, he'll break you, and then put you back together, and do it over and over again. Try not to rise up the ranks too much. That man...ain't _human_."

"Thanks, but I'll do as I know," Bruce replied coldly. He may have been new to the criminal industry, but he knew how this worked. They were trying to intimidate him, making sure that he remained in his place, afraid to rise up, or become better than them.

"Don't get the message yet, kid? Don't make this harder on yourself, just stay put like a nice little _bitch_ , and we won't have any trouble. Ye?"

Bruce grinned at that. "You want to me to stay put? Well then, why don't you make me!? _I dare you._ " Bruce barked, snapping his teeth and, giving a little breathy chuckle when the man jumped back a little. It wasn't him...it was _them_. They were afraid. Afraid of falling behind, and becoming disposable to the Joker. Like they weren't already.

The man glared, and snarled, baring a set of yellow teeth growling. He straightened up, trying to look intimidating and walked until he was only a couple inches away from, but Bruce didn't back away, and stood his ground glaring right back at the old man. Showing weakness here, would make his the victim. The one everyone would pick on, and push around. If this man wanted a fight, he'd give him one. Sure, Bruce may have been shorter...smaller, but this man was no match for him. He gave the man a mocking look, showing the man that Bruce wasn't afraid of him. Never would be. And that only seemed to enrage the man even more.

And in a swift movement a gun had made its way to Bruce's forehead, digging deep into his skin. Hard enough to almost break skin."Look here, kid. Ya might wanna tone down on that attitude. Ain't gonna help up here, now is it?" He gave the gun a little nudge to prove his point, and pulled the trigger, to even strengthen it.

Bruce looked up, chin down, but gaze still high, and gave a scared look. It was important. It gave his attacker the false assumption that Bruce was no big deal. Made the other feel safe, causing them to drop their guard just for a few moments. And those few moments were all Bruce needed before making his move. He quickly moved his hand up, one gripping the man's wrist, and the other grabbing onto the barrel of the gun, and pushing it up, forcing the weapon out of the man's pudgy hands, before it could shoot.

Bruce took a step away from the old man, and moved his finger away from the trigger, and outside of the guard. He pressed the magazine release with his thumb, while using the other hand to remove the magazine, and dropped it to the ground. Pulling the slide back, Bruce locked it open with the slide stop lever. And last of all, he pulled out any remaining bullets from the gun, and let them drop to floor one by one, along with the rest of the dismantled gun fall the floor. Hearing the metal clang onto the floor was enough. It gave Bruce a wave of relief, to know that the gun pointed at him, was now of no use to the men. He knew that the men would not have shot the bullet, but Bruce couldn’t keep the jitters down. His fingers twitched from the first contact and didn’t stop trembling until the last of the metal was on the floor, and useless. Just like how’d he been, back then. Useless. Weak. _Pathetic._

“ _What the fuck?!_ ” the man wailed, grabbing Bruce’s collar, shaking him, and evidently dragging Bruce away from the memory. Bruce supposed he should thank the man, for he did save Bruce from a panic attack, but he didn’t say anything. Only shrugged himself away from rough hands, and walked away. The yelling from behind him didn’t stop, but it did soften down, to the point where all Bruce could hear were blurry mumbles, and murmurs.

He looked around, the hazy figures reaching out to him, hands brushing against his shoulder, neck, arms. It was so suffocating. The air, the voices. They were stifling his movements, slowing his breathing. On the other side, the old man must’ve stopped his rants, for Bruce could no longer hear the muffled voices. Only a small tingling buzz took over numbing his senses. The walls started to cave in, and Bruce needed out. Out. Out. OUt!! _OUT!!_

 

_-o-_

 

It wasn’t long before Bruce had found some exit, and escaped out into the open air. He’d let himself fall alongside the door, drop his head back until it came in contact brick wall. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and let out a choked dry sob. He could feel his heart thundering, pounding so _loud,_ threatening to burst right out of his chest. He felt so small, yet so big. Lungs burned as they reached their maximum capacity, and forced themselves to stay there- _and the tension hurt_. The buzzing growing louder still, and Bruce found himself wrapping his arms around tighter around himself, whispering to himself to stop shaking, only to feel his hands tremble even more.

_Breathe Bruce. Breathe._

And he did. Inhaled, and exhaled until his breathing evened out, and the storm inside his chest came to bay.

_Inhale._

He stood up, brushing the dirt off the plaid, and the back of his jeans. Not that it made much of a difference.

_Exhale._

He closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. It was over. The buzzing had long passed, and now Bruce was back to present. He put his playboy mask back on, and once again entered the building. The Joker was there, standing in the middle of the room, attention high from all around, and their eyes locked.

_Inhale._

The Joker had been watching. He’d seen Bruce leave the premises, and come back again. And Bruce was sure that he’s been there for the fight as well. The Joker’s gaze darkened, and he broke into a grin, staring right at Bruce. The laugh that followed didn’t disappoint him. He knew something was off, and that only seemed to excite the clown rather than annoy him. _Games._ The Joker liked games. Matches Malone just so happened to be his new game piece. Well, _fuck._ Perhaps Alfred had been right all along. This truly has been a very shortsighted plan. _‘Oh Alfred, if only I’d listened to you yesterday. If only.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!!! I don't know much about panic attacks, but I searched online and tried to explain as well as I could, so if there is something inaccurate about it, please tell me. I'll try to change it as soon as I can. Hope you guys like it! Be sure to review~


	4. Stupid

“Boss, when is our mission?”

“Oh, soon my darling. No need to worry.”

“What’s the mission about?”

“It’s all games and no play with you, Mitchy,” the Joker drawled, taking a sip from the whiskey. “You’re sooo boooring~~~”

“Am I? I don’t mean to be,” Bruce sat down on the chair farthest away from the madman, before taking a grab at the glass on the table, filling it up with more ice than alcohol. Bruce had learned tricks over the years. The parties, banquets didn’t go in vain. He’d learned his playboy persona. Filling the glass up with ice, making sure you didn’t drink as much in front of others, but what did the others before him know? All they saw was a laid back man, drinking the night away.

“You know, that’s what Jonny has said too, but you aren’t like him. He was _so much more_ fun. He knew how to lighten up, you’re just being all snippy.”

“My apologies, boss. I simply want to be prepared. Don’t want to end up dying before my first paycheck.”

The Joker grunted at that. “There’s no need to worry about that. You’ll be with me the entire time.”

Way to make things even worse. If Bruce was going to be stuck with Joker, and not know about the mission itself, how in the world’s hell was he going to prevent it. Why the hell was he even here, when he couldn’t even do what he came to do properly.

“If Jonny, as you say, was so much fun, why kill him?”

The madman stiffened. “Who told you that?”

“Let’s just say the walls can whisper.”

“You shouldn’t listen to other’s, neh. Listen to me, _only me_.”

“So, why kill him?” Bruce replied ignoring the man’s words of ownership.

“He got boring, just like you’re being right now. So very BORING!! You might wanna step up the game. You aren’t like Batsy at all. Batsy’s fun. But wait...no no no. You’re like Batsy too!! All serious and stuck up. Always on about work work work work. Bloody work. But then again, you can’t be Batsy. Batsy is special...you, however.” The Joker turned his head over to look at Bruce, eyes narrowed, and a frown framing the scarred face. “You are _nothing._ Just another living waste of space. Want me to show you, how meaningless these pitiful lives are?”

Bruce felt a shiver run down his spine. He wanted to say no, but that’d only get him into more unnecessary trouble. The Joker waved the gun around in his hand, before aiming at a man hanging around the bar. So this is how Joker treated his men. Killed them just because he felt like it. And yet, they still worked for him.

The words that The Joker had growled at him, didn’t make him feel any lesser or more afraid. Instead, they’d sparked a fire in him. Anger. How was it that someone could tell someone that they are nothing. He straightened his back a little, and took a sip of the liquid, swallowing the bitterness down with the spiteful words forming on the tip of his tongue. The Joker tightened his hold on the trigger ready to shoot, and that’s when Bruce made his move. His eyes met the Joker’s and almost challenging, tilted his head a little and gave a small grin. “Well, that’s really a shame, isn’t it? You looked like you really wanted to kiss me back there.”

The Joker gleamed up at that, and turned his attention back to Bruce. The hand with the gun still hovering in the air, and Bruce knew his work was not done yet. He had to distract the madman. Joker liked games. He wanted a game, then Bruce was sure as hell going to give him one. “Oh Matches, only if you knew.”

“Changing your canvas already?” Bruce asked, motioning towards the drunk man at the bar. “Giving up on me already?”

The Joker threw his head back, cackling. His hand dropped to his side, as he shook with laughter. “Mitchie Mitchie, there’s no need to feel jealous. I haven't given up on you. You’re still _my_ canvas. My very own, and just you wait. _I’ll turn you into a masterpiece._ ” He sat up, and slithered closer to Bruce, until he was looming over the brunette, trapping Bruce in the chair. An arm on the armrest, while the other traced the gun down Bruce’s cheek. Playing his part, Bruce lowered his gaze, praying somewhere in the back of his mind, that the Joker wouldn’t shoot a bullet straight through his brains. The gun traveled down his jaw to his neck, and Bruce shivered, slightly shifting away from the head of the bullet. The gun dug into his skin, and Bruce closed his eyes, half prepared to be offed with there and then. If Bruce died, that drunken bastard had best be grateful that he’d just saved his life. Bruce heard another chuckle escape the clown’s mouth, and tried to sink himself even deeper into the chair, as though it’d somehow protect him from the gun.

The gun now resting underneath his chin, pushed up, forcing Bruce to tilt his face up, facing the clown. He let his eyes open slightly to peer at the madman. The green eyes, striking him down with malicious intent, and lust. “Neh Matches?” the clown spoke, tilting his head, pouting a little. “Are you _scared_ of me?”

Bruce gulped, the cold sweat forming on his neck, dripping down the small of his back, causing him to tremble the slightest. “Not of you, boss, but of the gun.”

“Don’t like guns?”

“Bad history with them.” Bruce replied mechanically. It was vague, but not a lie. He supposed it’d be enough to satisfy the clown... _for now_.

“I see,” The Joker whispered, but still not removing the metal. “You don’t need to be afraid, Matchy. I won’t hurt this pretty face of yours.” The scarred lips brushed his ears, moving down his cheek, and eventually replacing the gun. Bruce twitched at the contact, bringing his hands up, ready to push the clown away, but thought better of it. As long as Bruce played along, the clown would be distracted enough to not kill other people, and hopefully Bruce himself.

Teeth nibbled at his skin, traveling down to his shoulder, pushing the plaid out of the way. Teeth bit down on his shoulder, and Bruce winced, feeling them break through the top layer of his skin.

“Really?” Bruce breathed out, gasping when the pressed his teeth down even harder. “Doesn’t seem so convincing.”

The Joker waited a few moment, lapping at the wound, before pulling away, and returning back to seat to admire his work. Ignoring Bruce’s comments he spoke. “You look so good in red, it’s really a shame that you washed up all the blood from earlier. _Next time,_ I’ll be sure to bathe you in it.”

And Bruce didn’t doubt it. He knew he’s already caught the Joker’s attention, and now he’d just intrigued to Joker even more. _Fuck_. He needed to get out of here, before things got even more tangled up.

“Well, would you look at the time, Boss? Already 11. I’d better get going. Don’t wanna sleep through the mission, if it by chance happens to be tomorrow.”

The clown mumbled something under his breath, and Bruce raised his eyebrows. It seemed that the booze was getting to the clown’s head, having already drunk 5 glasses. “What was that, boss?”

“It is tomorrow,” the clown grumbled. “Be ready. _Don’t_ make me wait, else it won’t be pretty?”

Bruce nodded, not bothering to ask any more questions, knowing it’d be useless. Knowing that the mission would be tomorrow, was enough. He stood, and turned on his heel, walking away, before the clown’s voice caused him to pause.

“Stay, will ya? Ya know, Bats don’t sleep at night.”

“Well it’s a shame I’m not a bat, and I _do_ sleep at night. See you tomorrow, boss.” And with that Bruce left. The clown’s eyes following him until he turned around the corner and disappeared into the abyss.

-o-

First thing that Bruce had done, when coming to his room, was to run into the bathroom to take a look at his neck. He looked disheveled and completely ruffled up. His hair was out of place, traces of smudged lipstick traveling down his check all the way to the bite mark. Taking his contacts off, he turned the tap on, and proceeded to wash the lipstick and blood away. Wincing when he rubbed the bite mark. Gods, was he annoyed. Not only had the Joker bit him, but he’d made sure that the bite would be in plain view had he worn a shirt, or even a normal hoodie. He’d marked Bruce, and that thought only made Bruce angrier. He stared at his reflection again, taking in his messed up self again. He didn’t like it. No he didn’t.

Clenching his fists, Bruce glared at his reflection, accusingly. Was it strange for him to be blaming himself for the actions of Matches Malone? Bruce didn’t know. He hardly knew who he even was. Was he Batman? Playboy Bruce Wayne? Matches Malone? The man with Alfred, Jason, Tim...Dick? Which one was real? Which one was _better_?

His gaze traveled back to the mark on his neck. His mouth went dry, muscles tensed up and Bruce just stood there, shaking, staring at his pitiful self. Pathetic. He’d let this happen. It was all his fault. His.

“It’s you,” he whispered to the man in the mirror. His voice hoarse and crumbly, drenched in his self-loath. “You can’t do good for shit. It’s you..all you. This is why people die. This is why your parents died. Because you were so _pathetic_ , and you didn’t even try to save any of them. Stop this stupid self-pity and get your shit back together.”

How stupid it must be for him to be talking to a mirror. Letting out a final cry of rage, Bruce slammed his fist straight into the glass, ignoring the pain as the glass shards pierced themselves into his knuckles. He watched the glass shatter, and breaking violently when they came in contact with the sink below. He felt satisfied, at the broken mess he’d created.

He’d stayed there for a while, staring at his broken reflection still. He’d cleaned up the glass, and pulled the shards out of his hand. He let his hand run in the stream of the water pouring from the tap, and watched as the blood poured from his wounds down the stream, and eventually disappearing down the drain. Only when the stream stopped being tainted in red, had he removed his hand.

Sighing, he walked out the bathroom, and flopped onto the bed, not bothering to bandage up his wound. He simply lay there, still taking in the events blossoming with his stay here. It was strange. Always so loud, and pompous. Even from here he could hear coming from the den. Never had he been around so many people for so long. Sure, he’s gone to parties, but the parties had mostly consisted of chatter. Not music, or dancing, or even drinking. Ok...so maybe that was a lie. He drank. A lot. In fact, he drank all the bloody time. He liked the feeling of getting drunk. Liked it when his sensed could go numb and he could escape reality, and eventually be lulled into the bittersweet sleep.

The only difference from drinking here and back at the mansion was that he was alone. Here, he’s surrounded by people constantly. Killers at that. Back there, he’s alone. Didn't have to worry about being vulnerable and exposed in front of a whole crowd of criminals all yelling, _‘Fuck the Police,’_ as though it was some sort of chant or catch phrase.

Sinking deeper into the bed, he covered his body with the sheets, which strangely enough were soft, and fresh. Had the Joker also hired workers to clean up this place? None the matter, he was content. The bed was pleasant, mingled with a soft scent of lilac. Bruce took in a deep breath, before closing his eyes, letting his body relax. The lights were still on, but Bruce didn’t care. He was used to sleeping in the light, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the dark would take over the light. And he wasn’t wrong. The abyss crept in slowly from the back of his mind and then all at once, enveloping his eyes like ink in water. The music muffled away to the background, and a light buzz entered his ear, lulling Bruce deeper into the black, away from reality.

Not that he minded. He slept like a rock.


	5. Only Walking

"Fucking god! What the fuck?!" Bruce yelled opening his eyes to see green. Fucking emerald green.

He scrambled up from the sheets quickly, and almost turned to look straight into those fucking eyes, before realizing he wasn't wearing his contacts. _Shit. Shit. Do something, Bruce! Fucking do something!_

And so he did. He pushed past the  bolted towards the bathroom, not caring when a shard of glass poked through the sole of his foot, and locked himself in. Back pressed against the door, Bruce took a few deep breaths before moving over to flush the toilet, to cover the sounds of him fumbling through the drawers to get to his contacts.

Jolts of laughter echoed on the other side, and Bruce knew he didn't have much longer. It wouldn't be long before the Joker stopped laughing. He turned the tap on, feeling the water run through his calloused hands. The wounds now crusty with dried blood, and Bruce wished he'd taken better care of them yesterday. Now they'd only hurt more.

He let the water splash down his face, washing away any traces of drool that might've slipped his mouth, when he was sleeping, and blinked a couple times before placing the contacts in their spot. He let them settle in for a while, and then turned off the tap. The shelf was a mess. Broken glass shards scattered all over, some now finding their place on the floor. Joker could not see this.

The cackling on the other side had ceased and Bruce knew his time was up. He sighed and straightened up a little, pulling his sleeve down to cover his knuckles and put on his best 'Ready for Work' facade, which truly wasn't all that convincing. It didn't really matter. He had never been a morning person. Morning was to sleep, not the other way around. Turning off the lights, he slowly undid the lock, and opened the door. It was eerily quiet, and the creaking of the door opening seemed louder than it should be. He knew the Joker hadn't left yet, and he wasn't wrong. Sure enough, there he was, sitting cross legged on Bruce's bed like he belonged there. He wasn't wearing his usual purple trenchcoat, instead he was in... _normal_ clothes?

Donned in green pj's and a 'batman sucks' shirt, he actually looked pretty...ok. If it weren't for the heavy layers of makeup and red lipstick, the Joker would've actually looked like a much older version of Dick.

"That was sure one hell of a show you put up there, Matchy," the Joker laughed. "This how you wake up every morning?"

Bruce swallowed, and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "No, boss. Just not used to waking up to someone's face 3 inches away from my face. I must say, it was one hell of a fright."

Bruce knew he was practically insulting the clown, but the other didn't seem to really mind. The grin was still pasted onto the white face, and his eyes still gleamed with joy. "Not a morning person, are ya, Mitchy?"

Bruce grumbled a few incoherent words under his breath. Mostly curses, either to maniac in front of him, or the fates themselves for giving his such a horrid sight to begin his mornings with. "Not particularly. Today was special," he spoke keeping his distance from the clown.

The clown pouted and raked his eyes up and down Bruce's body. "I must say, you're looking like quite a mess." His eyes stopped on his neck and Bruce pulled his shirt higher up his shoulder trying to cover it as best as possible, but in no avail. "Don't cover it, Matchy darling! It's really a pretty sight."

Bruce glared. "I like to be more... _professional_ ." He chose his words carefully, not wanting to anger the maniac, but not wanting to agree with him either. The mark was ugly, and utterly revolting. The possession, lust and absolute horror reflecting of it was _disgusting_ . And it was so _bare_ , naked, out there for everyone to see. Bruce wanted nothing more than to cover it up, and claw it right off.

The Joker however, didn't seem to mind at all. Only curved his lips to a twisted smile, and stood up, swinging his legs. "Aww, but I like fun. Don't try to be like them Matchy, you're not." He placed his hands on shoulders in a death tight grip. "Just learn to let go, Matchy. Loosen up a little, will ya? You act like I'm gonna _kill_ ya at any minute."

Bruce knew he should've kept quiet, but the words slipped from his tongue before he could think the better of it. "Aren't you, though?"

"Oh Matchy," the clown's voice dropped down to fake comfort. " _Of Course_ not."

" _Liar_."

Green eyes narrowed, and the twisted smile turned even darker. Warm hands fell away from his shoulders, and before Bruce could even blink the clown was walking out the door. "You have an hour. Meet me in the den when you're ready.”

It wasn’t a question, or a request. It was a demand, warning Bruce what might happen if he didn’t show up. Bruce would not show. He would not be a puppet and let the Joker hold all its strings. No.

Getting ready was a hassle, now that Alfred was not around. He’d managed to work around the broken glass, and even cleaned up most of it. He’d showered and even washed his hair, before stepping back out into the room.

Hair dripping and skin soaking wet, Bruce reached underneath the bed to grab at the bad he’d picked from Alfred a couple night ago. Inside lay an older version of the batsuit. Small, thin, and bare of it’s usual armour. Perfect to wear underneath his normal clothes. Stuffing his arms and legs into the suit, he reached back to pull the zipper up his back. Yup, this was definitely one of his _really_ old suits. He shrugged on a pair of black pants over top of the suit. Lastly he completed the look with a black turtleneck sweater and some fingerless gloves to hide his busted knuckles. There was truly no need for such a sweater. He could’ve just worn a normal long sleeve t-shirt, and save himself from the heat, but no. There was no way, he’s let anyone look at the mark on his neck. Not even the man who had graciously bestowed it upon him.

Bruce took a small bag along as well. He’d stuffed his mask and gloves in the deepest corner of it, and grabbed a few extra gadgets including his phone. Before leaving, he’d checked the clock. Still 10 more minutes to go...he could still-

_No! What are you thinking Bruce!? If you go meet the clown now, it’s only show that you are ready to be his puppet. No no no. Joker could burn in hell for all he cared._

And with that Bruce walked out from his room, heading the opposite direction from the den and into the kitchen. He helped himself to some coffee ignoring the other men, before making his way to the common room, where he’d first met Chris and his gang. The men who’d pointed a gun at him during his first day. Fortunately, they were well far away from him. No need for a fight on the day of the mission.

He waited there in silence, sipping his coffee slowly. It’s been long past an hour, and Bruce was starting to doubt his decision of not meeting the Joker. Maybe he should’ve gone to the Joker after all, but then what? Joker would’ve pushed at his buttons again, tugging them, and then cutting the strings, only to stitch them on again. And Bruce would let him, wondering why he couldn’t just walk away. So this was it, he was walking away. From this dance of theirs. Stepping off the stage, and down to Matches Malone.

“Hey, Aintcha Mista J’s canvas?”

The giggly voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Bruce looked down at the source of it...Harley. That had been her name. He wasn’t even sure it was her real one. She wore white makeup, much like the Joker’s only it was lighter, and well...rather better looking that the clown’s, It wasn’t cracked up, sticky, greasy, or peeling off. It was more powdered down. But then again, Joker had never known how to put on makeup properly. Dark red lipstick painter her lips neatly, and heavy mascara made her blue eyes pop out more than they really should. There also seemed to be highlights of blue and red eyeshadow, contrasting on both sides, along with her hair.

This girl seemed so much more different than when he’d last seen her. She wasn’t wearing skin tight booty shorts, or a t-shirt that was two sizes too small on her before. The shirt had pushed up to her her waist, and ripped on sides that they really shouldn’t be.

“Hey! I asked ya something!””

Bruce shot his eyebrows up again, remembering the previous question. “No, I’m not,” he replied not wanting to be dragged back onto that stage.

“Nonsense,” the girl whined, before grabbing his hand, and guiding him closer to the entrance. “Ya should feel lucky. Ya know, I was like you once too, once. But look at me now!” She twirled on her heel letting her pigtails bop up and down, and giving Bruce a bright smile. It wasn’t comforting. It held promise, and venom, full with jealousy that only Bruce seemed to be able to see. Her words and actions all so contradicting than the gleam in her eyes. “Come come.” And Bruce followed.

Harley led him down a darker and much older hallway, the lights flickering and wallpaper peeling. She stopped when they’d reached the corner, and stopped him, before he could step any further to look around the corner. The place was surprisingly a lot worse than the rest of the building, and it made Bruce wonder why they hadn’t renovated the place yet. The lights were as good as dead, and the ones that did work, either flickered, or gave out a dark hue. There were no windows dawned on walls. There were however air vents. Big ones, enough to fit even Bruce himself. Maybe they were in the Basement, or the ‘hidden’ part of the warehouse. The Joker must atleast have a few places that were restricted from the rest of the company. This must have been one of them. Surely there would be more, and Bruce wanted to find out.

“Why am I here, Harley?” Bruce asked, harsher than he intended to, but not enough to be threatening.

“OH! Hahaha, I must've forgotten to tell ya! Ahahaha~” Harley laughed, much unlike from the Joker’s. It was more of an awkward, laugh, gritten out from the layers of her teeth. As though she were holding back, which Bruce found was very odd. Her knuckles had turned white from the tightness of the fist, and Bruce could see the nails digging deeper into her palms, hard enough to almost break skin, and yet she stood smiling, the mask plastered perfectly onto her childish face. Why-

“Awwww, you brought matchy here for me!!” A hand came in view from the corner, and moved to rub the girl’s face. “You’re so good for daddy!”

So that..was why. Harley nuzzled against the hand, like a dog craving it’s owner’s affection. She...was loving this man? He didn’t know the right word...love? Love wasn’t like this. Joker’s hand moved away just as soon as it’s touched her, and that left Harley begging even more. Her eyes gleamed in an almost mad happiness. This... _this_ made her happy?! To be begging another man to just pay the slightest attention to her. No. This was wrong, and on many ways. He felt bad or Harley.

“Maat-chy!!~ Where have ya been?” the Joker’s hand reached for him, and he took a step back startled. Snapping out of his trance, he turned his attention back to the Joker, but it’d already been too late. He’d stepped back. He was walking off, and the Joker seemed to notice that. Green hair fell like wisps onto his forehead and his eyes darkened, all the light fading away. Only the light flickering every now seemed to connect them. And every time it shined, the green eyes would tear deeper into his. They looked almost empty, so void, and lost within themselves.

“Harley, _leave_ , and round everything up.”

The girl nuzzling against his cheek looked up in shock. Maybe she’d noticed something wrong too. “But Puddin’!”

Joker growled, and at once, Harley scurried off, but not before shooting Bruce a possessive glare. Bruce returned it with his own.

The Joker, it seemed didn’t like that. His hand wrenched at Bruce’s arm, cramming Bruce against the wall. Had Bruce been Batman, he would have probably already socked one at the twisted face, for now, he’d remain Malone.

“You...you don’t get to leave!” His words dropping a level, vibrating through Bruce’s skin. He’d never been this way before. Not with Batman, not with Harley. “You...don’t!”

“What do you mean, boss?” Bruce spoke, his voice wavering slightly, as the Joker’s hands grabbed at his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. Cold fingers dug into the edges of his sweater, tugging down the neck just barely.

The Joker responded with a cackle. “Ha- y-you’re funny! Ahahaha! So...funny..” The voice died down a bit, and a reeking smell caught bruce’s attention. Was the Joker... _drunk?_

“How about we get you back to your room, boss.”

The Joker shook his head vigorously, half falling onto Bruce’s frame every now and then. “No-no...we have to go meet Batsy today. I mean, not you, but me...caan’t keep a woman waiting to-o long now can we?” He moved a finger in front of Bruce childishly.

“You’re drunk,” Bruce stated, hoping it would knock some sense into the clown’s head.

“n-NO! I a-am NOT!”

“You are, let’s go.”

The Joker started to laugh, but the laughter soon turned into denial. “NO! NO no no no no.” He growled through his twisted smile, and grabbed Bruce’s arm, dragging him back down the hall, but out from a door that Bruce had not been familiar with.

They were greeted with blinding light, far brighter than the ominous ones inside. Joker stopped to a white van. Bruce had recognised it, it’d been the one that Joker had driven off in during their last fight. He found himself being pulled forward and shoved towards the back of the van.

“Get in.” The Joker ordered, and Bruce obeyed. Glaring, and still rather unwilling. The handle clicked open in his hand, and he swung the door open, the other following soon after.

“Are we using this van?” Bruce asked, still unsure why The Joker would choose a vehicle that stood out so much. There were bullet holes still bombarded into the sides, and scratched that ran all the way from the front to the rear. The side mirrors either missing or cracked. With all the money that the Joker had, _this_ is what he is using on his new mission?

“ _Get in_ ,” Joker gritted, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Bruce had thought about telling him about his foolishness; planning to go terrorize the city drunk, all the while standing out like a black wolf in a herd of wild sheep, but chose against it. He used the side handles to pull himself up into the back, and almost stumbled in when a hand pushed him forward, soon following him in. He sat down on the side opposite from Bruce, and banged his hand on the walls twice, and hard. It was probably only a couple before the engine of the car started, and the van drove forward.

There had been someone in the front, who’d already been waiting there. It couldn’t have been Harley. There’s been no way she’d be fast to go ‘round things up,’ and be at the front seat. There had been somebody else. Someone that the Joker trusted more than the rest. Maybe even more than Harley.

Bruce sat still, keeping an eye on the Joker from the corner of his eyes, as the man reached down underneath the seats to open a latch. The latch fell open and a pile of weapons, guns, bullets...masks flooded out. The clown picking up a vintage looking revolver, and placing it in one of the many pockets of his trench coat. Green eyes looked up at Bruce waiting.

“Something you need, boss?”

Bruce spoke, not bothering to hide any of his displeasure, and it made the Joker smile. The gleam returning back to his eyes, and the fire between them sparked again. “Oh Matchy~ How I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been here the entire time.”

“No no, don’t say such things without knowing their true meanings. You weren’t here. You were leaving...you were trying to run away, weren’t you?” The Joker spoke, tilting his head back to let out another drunken cackle. “You’ve been such a _bad_ boy.”

“Wasn’t running, boss.” Bruce met eyes with the clown, and put up his best playboy charisma. “Only walking.”

Joker paused at that. “Walking, eh?”

“Yes.”

“You... _wanted_ me to catch up to you, Matches?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Awww, I always knew you loved my games!”

“I don’t-”

“You must really like me then right?”

No...that’s not what I mea-” Bruce tried again, only to be cut off again.

“Don’t you worry Matchy~” The Joker cooed, patting Bruce’s cheek lightly. “I like ya too.”

Blood ran up to Bruce’s face, and he turned to his side, looking away from the Joker, but still keeping an eye on him from the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, the clown still didn’t get to message to _stop_ taking.

“Why ya shoulda just told me before. I wouldn’t have-” Joker stopped, pausing at his words, and then humming the tune of a song from the 1960’s. One that Bruce recognized well. His mother would play it. All day, all night. And she’d even dance with his father to the same beat. His father had always complained about it, but he’d sometimes catch his singing alone. It’d been his mother’s favorite, and how different it was to hear it from her to hear it from the Joker. Bruce could’ve laughed at the irony of it all.

A couple minutes of his silence, and the Joker humming passed, before he spoke. “Where are we going?”

The Joker shot up at that. “Hm?”

He could now hear the busy streets of Gotham, chattering away. The ever so increasing traffic value and the honks and screeches of tires halting as they drove onwards. The smell of food wafts into the van from food stalls nearby. His stomach growls in response. Perhaps missing breakfast wasn’t the best thing to do, but it also gave him an idea. They must’ve been in the older parts of the city. A place that Bruce Wayne did not visit often.

“Where are we going?” The Joker repeated to himself. “Well...where do you think?”

Bruce pondered for a moment. Usually Joker’s plans consisted of money, or havoc within the richer sides of the city. He blew schools, robbed banks, killed richass millionaires. Why would they come to a place where no such places resided?

“Some bank, or the house of a rich asshole?” Bruce lied, adding in some street vibe.

Joker laughed at that. “Oh dear Matchy. It’s always money for you lot. Such a shame we won’t be going there today.”

“No?”

“Tonight,” he declared, meeting eyes with Bruce. “We go pay a visit to a dear ol’ friend of mine. _The very heart of Gotham city._ ”

Bruce felt his heart sink to the floor...


	6. Dup Dup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be a short chapter, but it will be leading up to a greater chapter. Anyways, hope you guys like it!

Alfred Pennyworth was a calm and composed man. He walked with his head held up, and chest high. Right now, neither seemed manageable. He was a complete, and total mess. Pools of sweat were forming on his forehead dripping down his sunken cheekbones, and onto the carpet floor before.

_‘Why Master Bruce?’_

Alfred was worried, worried like he’d never been before. He’d gotten the alert that something was about to befall today, but ad no clue on what yet. Surely Master Bruce should’ve given an update, some hint..something. But there was nothing. Nothing at all, all that remained was the simple text from last night. “Joker’s planning something for tomorrow. Be ready.”

And now, Alfred waited. His eyes peered at the screen before him as the letters started to form. He was tracking Batman. Originally, Bruce had refused to put a tracker on his old suit, the one that Alfred would give him. Alfred, it seemed, did go by originally. And though he felt slightly guilty about doing such a thing without Bruce’s acknowledge, it all seemed worth it now. At Least now, Alfred _knew_ were Bruce was, and he knew they were on the move. The dot moving across the map, proved him right.

Sighing he gave off a signal to Jason, and Tim. It’s only be a matter of minutes before they’d show up, barging in through the window, rather than the door itself, which infact is usually left open.

And he wasn’t wrong. The pair came, shattering their way through the lobby windows. They landed on the ground on all fours, panting and huffing. He didn’t have to ask to know that they’d probably sprinted the entire way here, without a break.

Tim let out a husky chuckle before turning to Jason and grinned. “I beat you. What’s wrong? You showing down with old age, or are you just getting fatter? I can see that belly popping out, oh! And is that gray hair I see right there,” he spoke reaching out to grab at the other’s hair.

“Oh shut up,” Jason replied, slapping the hand away. “That was lucky lucky.”

Alfred smiled, looking at the two, motioning them to sit down on the sofa, as he went to get water.

_‘I’m sorry, Master Bruce. I know I should wait for your command, but I can no longer leave you to fend yourself alone with the clown.’_

_-o-_

_‘Please don’t come here. Please don’t let anyone show up here, Please..’_ Bruce prayed mentally. They should not come. Gordon should just stay at his office, and Alfred had better lock Jason and Tim up in their bedrooms. It was too dangerous. Hell, even he was scared. Terrified really, and of what you ask?

Plants. _Fucking_ plants.

“Y-you look a little nervous, sweetie~” the Joker coed, tapping Bruce’s cheek twice, only to have it slapped away.

 _‘You should be too,’_ he thought, wondering whether the Joker even realized that he was falling all over the place and drunk at that. He’d be dead with a single slip of a word, but then again, he was the Joker. Genius (as much as he hated to admit it). Annoying. Escape con master, and utterly _insane_. “I’m not,” he settled with.

The clown laughed. “Oh Mitchy darling, _you should be._ ”

 _‘That’s my line,’_ Bruce thought. “Hmm..”

The clown pouted at his response, and Bruce looked away. There really wasn’t much to look at. The metal walls were white with dents in them, and a hole, where one of the bullets had gone through. He settled on that, keeping his eyes fixated on the light coming from it. The light was blue, not yellow and warm...more cold. He figured the clouds must have covered the sun, taking away the little bit of warmth that might’ve lit up the skies. In a way, it all seemed appropriate. The thundering clouds, churning, dropping needles of rain down onto his skin. His skin turning blue, hair drenching with the very tears of Gotham. It all made sense. Evil had promised to spill blood and Gotham would cry in return.

_-o-_

The van came to a sharp turn and then a stop, before the engine turned off, and a hoarse voice was heard from the other end. “We’re here, boss. You have 10 minutes.”

The Joker beamed and clapped his hands together. “Oh Goodie!” he spoke, opening the back door, and jumping out. Bruce moved to follow, but was shoved back onto the seat.

“Boss-”

“Nope! You stay here, Matchy. We don’t want your pretty face to get scratched, now do we?” He grazed a knuckle across his cheek. Bruce said nothing, biting the inside of his mouth to keep him from lashing out. “Good. Don’t talk to Cookie too much while I’m gone, ok? Ya’ll make me jealous,” and with that, walked away, heels clicking onto the gravel as he stepped further and further away.

Bruce kept a watchful eye on him. The clown turned around the corner and towards the back of the worn down warehouse. He looked back at the unseen _‘Cookie’_ , and took a deep breath before quietly stepping out of the van, following after the Jester’s footsteps.

This was not a good idea, but then again Bruce always seemed to learn that the hard way.

_-o-_

Following the Joker had not been hard. The clown had been humming, and singing, giving a little skip on occasion, as though he wanted to be heard. To be _seen_. Did the Joker know he was here? Merely meters behind him?

He didn’t know. It seemed off. Too easy. Far too easy. He should not be _allowed_ to be able to get this close to seeing the Joker’s private business. Batman couldn’t do it. Bruce Wayne couldn’t do it. So why was Matches Malone? What was so ever special about Matches?

Sighing, he continued following after the sounds that came from the madman, eventually leading him to a hallway with two other corners extending from them, when everything went quiet.... _too quiet_. Bruce knew better. Quiet was never a good thing, and he allowed himself to stop. Opening his mouth to breathe quieter, and squinting his eyes to look around for any movement in the shadows, he took a vary step back.

 

_Dup-dup._

 

There was nothing. _Nothing_. And that to Bruce seemed wrong. During times like these there’d always been chaos. Violence. Drugs. Adrenaline. Blood, and sweat. And right now, the only thing within the reach of his senses was his very own horrified heart. It wasn’t used to this silence, and peace. It thundered like a deer in headlights. Caught, and terrified.

 

_Dup-dup._

 

Maybe he was just paranoid. Just his own thought haunting him. Taking in a quiet deep breathe he stepped forward, hands raised, knees bent, ready to hit anyone around the corner. He stopped again, just behind the corner, and peeked his head out slowly. His heath thumped, beating so fast, he was afraid it might just rip right out of his chest. It was so loud. Ringing in his ears with every thump, and he wondered if someone else could also hear this beating heart of him.

 

_Dup-dup._

 

He could turn back. He could just turn around now, and go back to his seat on the van. No! What was he thinking! Him? _Batman_ is turning around? It would be another hundred centuries before such a day would come. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he stepped around the corner...

 

_Dup-dup._

 

...and nothing. _Nothing!_ Lowering his arms a little, he looked baffled at the wall before him. It was a dead end. A turn leading to nothing but a dead end wall.

Bruce let out a husky chuckle, and brushed a hand through his hair. He threw his head back a little, and dropped his hands to his side, wondering where to go from here. He’d lost the Joker, like that, and vaguely he wondered how it was even possible. His eyes swore he’d seen the Joker turn this way, but then again, the joker was never ordinary, and if he wanted to find him, he too would have to think a little crazy.

He walked towards the blank white wall, pressing his palms against the cold concrete. Probing, and tapping along the sides to see if there was a secret entrance, or button, much like the one he had in his own house.

And again nothing.

With a final attempt to find anyway in, he pressed his ear against the wall, trying to listen for any buzz or hum, anything to signal that there was an electronic system connected to it.

There. The slight buzz of the electricity wiring through the wall, and Bruce knew he’d found a secret door..if only he could figure out a way to get in. He hovered his hands to the bottom the wall, slowly tapping upwards, listening to any hollow echoes.

Oh how he wished he had his batsuit on with oracle on the line. He wouldn’t simply been able to locate any fingerprints, but without his cowl trying to find the entrance seemed useless. For all he knew it could be a fingerprint code, or maybe even an eye scan. Hell, there could even be hidden camera’s lurking around, peering at him from the other side.

And there it was. The thumping of his heart.

 

_Dup-dup. Dup-dup._

 

Had he always been this vulnerable? Without his suit, he felt so... _exposed_. Open. Like anything could touch him. Hurt him. And in a way it could. Bruce was no stranger to pain, or to hurt, but it all seemed so much more different without the suit. He pressed his forehead against the wall, and let out a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he stayed there for a moment. Waiting, but not sure for what exactly. If he could just find a way in...

“WHat are ya doing _HERE_ , Matchy?” a deadly came from behind him. “Did you want to play too?”

 

_..Dup-dup..._

 

 


End file.
